


Alive

by fanflock



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanflock/pseuds/fanflock
Summary: It's been so long since Kravitz was alive, but Taako makes him remember.





	

_i. Warmth_

“Oh, that is a clammy one.” The thought had never crossed Kravitz’s mind until that moment, hands sliding over his own, caked in clay and warm with life. Taako’s hands find their way onto his many more times that evening, passing him wine, grabbing his attention, helping him shape his clay into something vaguely resembling a vase. His own creation is stunning, the perfect halfway point between bowl and vase and too well made for the teacher to tell him off again. The clay folds easily in his fingers; Kravitz’s stays stiff and crumbles.

Over the passing weeks he gets to feel that warmth again and again, each date with Taako inviting him to experience something more; his hands, his waist, his neck, his lips. He savours the shivers as his hands move over warm thighs, feeling the flush creeping over Taako’s skin. He pulls back to admire him, his red cheeks and warm breaths, and catches sight of that look Taako is giving him, all starry eyed and unguarded and _hot._ His dark skin hides the colour, but they can both feel his blush as he dives down for another kiss, sloppy and eager.

 

_ii. Breath_

Kravitz enjoys their lazy dates, which is good because Taako loves nothing more than doing nothing. Laying together on Taako’s bed, all out of news and gossip, Kravitz relishes the peace and quiet he hardly finds in the Astral plane. The elf’s steady breathing is the soundtrack to his afternoon, as he entertains himself tracing circles on his back as it rises and falls beneath his finger tips. It’s lovely, except apparently it’s not.

“Alright, that’s super creepy.” Taako pushes himself up onto his elbows and stares into his eyes, breaking the quiet.

“What?”

“You. I’m kinda just figuring out you don’t breath? Like, ever?” He jabs a finger into Kravitz’s chest. “It’s like I’m hugging a dead body up in here.”

“I can breathe, it’s just not really necessary.”

“Okay, as much as I’m into this whole creepy-hot dead guy thing, which I totally am-” Kravitz laughs “-that’s actually real weird. Have you ever tried breathing? It’s pretty sweet, I gotta tell you.” Kravitz rolls his eyes, but takes a deep breath for show as Taako conducts him, up, in, and down, out. “Yeah, love it. Now just keep doing that until you die.”

“That’s a lot longer than you’d think.”

“Alright, then keep doing it until I die. After that, who gives a shit about anything honestly.” Taako settles down again, still waving one hand in lazy dictation, in, out, in, out. He measures his breaths, trying not to focus on how strange the constant movement feels. Taako lowers his arm again, trusting him to continue. His chest rises and falls, and Kravitz matches the pace. In, out, in, out. There’s a draft creeping under the door, and the room sighs with them. In, out, in, out. Kravitz lets himself relax again; his breathing tapers off, and he doesn’t even notice.

Suddenly, there’s a shift, and Taako’s warm hands are on his stomach. He gasps in, and Taako’s lips are on his neck, and he shudders out again.

“There. Now that’s more like it.”

 

_iii. Taste_

Eating was another unnecessary ability of Kravitz’s, a hold over from his first life. There were occasions where he snuck in the odd biscuit or slice from a mortal café, but mostly he just doesn’t find it important enough to indulge very often. This confession is met with extreme personal offense from Taako, who stalks off to his kitchenette in disgust and starts pulling out pots, pans, measuring jugs, mixing bowls, all without a word. Kravitz stands awkwardly in the corner as Taako glides around him, silent, then muttering, working himself up into a lecture about the importance of food as not only a physical necessity, but as a cultural and social bonding activity.

Half an hour later sees a smorgasbord of finger foods laid out for them, and even Taako, broken out of his cooking trance, seems shocked at his own handiwork. They sit at the counter and Taako feeds him a bit of everything, all of it good. Kravitz returns the favour once he’s so full he could burst, to much different results.

“Oh, do I have something on my face?” Taako asks, 3 seconds after deliberately dodging a spring roll that ends smeared across his lips. “Could you get that for me?” Kravitz snorts, then happily obliges.

It becomes ritual, and ritual becomes habit. Taako invites him in and asks if he’s eaten, though they both know he hasn’t, and they dance around each other in the kitchen, making whatever new dish Taako’s decided he absolutely must try this week.

(Sometimes. Other times he sees the ingredients lined up on the counter, poured and measured, while Taako looks past them, pulling at his braid and suggesting they get take out instead. Kravitz knows enough about sore topics not to ask.)

The smell of spices and oil cling in his head now, pulling at him as he passes bakeries and restaurants. They tempt him in ways they never did before. In his mind, Taako always tastes like powdered sugar.

 

_iv. Heartbeat_

“Kravitz…” Taako’s voice is barely above a wheeze, echoing gently against the cave walls. “Kravitz I’m dying.”

The reaper holds him gently, cautiously. A gash on his side, another on his forehead, dripping blood in a steady rhythm like the moisture on the walls. He’s a sorry sight, but…

“You’re not dying, Taako,” he sighs, relieved.

Taako gurgles. “Yes I am.”

“You’re being dramatic. Where’s your cleric?”

“I ‘unno, gone. Left me. Wasting his spell slots on dumb shit probably.” He reaches up to drowsily caress Kravitz’s cheek, smearing blood and dirt on him in the process. “I just wanted your face to be the last thing I saw.”

“Well, really that would have been the case regardless of if you’d called me first.”

“Darling, please, I’m trying to make this a moment.”

“You’re bleeding on my suit.”

“Oh boo fucking hoo.” There it was; definitive proof the shitty elf inside was still alive and kicking. Kravitz shifts to hold him better but just ends up making it worse, Taako hissing in pain. “Sorry…”

Kravitz is used to blood; it’s kind of part of the job description for him, but the experience isn’t usually so… intimate. He feels it warm on his fingertips as he brushes the elf’s fringe aside. His heartbeat, a sensation Kravitz has become so very familiar with, is now beating fast beneath his skin for an entirely different reason. Death has become mundane to him, common, inevitable, but for a moment he really thinks about it. How quick it can come, how easy it can be…

Taako gives another dramatic groan and burrows into his shirt.

“Yes, yes, you’re very hurt.” He rubs a thumb over his long ears, drawing out a contented hum.

“Damn right I am.”

Merle and Magnus come soon enough, and find Taako alone. He heals up fine, and Kravitz magics the blood out of his suit. He does his best not to think about it again.

 

_v. Living_

As much as he enjoys his getaways, the Ethereal Plane never stops being home to Kravitz. The stone corridors, the shimmering lake, the whispers of souls long passed; unchanging and constant, providing a sort of comfort. He’s thankful for it, because if they didn’t he would have a hell of an eternity to look forward to.

He takes his break from paperwork and bounties out in the hallway of the Raven Queen’s castle, leaning against window looking out over the lake. He fiddles with the stone of far speech in his hand, but only idly. Taako was out somewhere, likely doing something tremendously important incredibly badly. It’s an entertaining thought, even if not a comforting one.

“Kravitz.” The voice echoes through the hallway, and the Raven Queen is right behind him, silent and unexpected, as she is wont to be.

“Good day, my Queen.” Kravitz needs only a moment to recovering, bowing in respect.

“You’re looking well.” A pause. “Alive, even.”

“Uh, thank you.” He leaves a tone of uncertainty in there, just in case. It’s hard to read anything behind her mask of feathers.

“It’s a good look on you.” She passes him, cloak trailing behind with ethereal grace, and Kravitz hopes she doesn’t notice the skip his heart does, breath halting, face flushing.

Living. Wouldn’t that be something.

**Author's Note:**

> TAZ twitter is @pocketspa


End file.
